


In the Quiet

by i_am_zan



Series: DGMRarepair 2k17 run by Kitty Bandit on tumblr [3]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Again, How Do I Tag, Introspection, It's a friendship thing you know, Other, What Was I Thinking?, dgmrarepair2k17, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_zan/pseuds/i_am_zan
Summary: Part 3 of the DGMRarepair 2k17 run by Kitty Bandit on tumblr series.Prompt - White, Winter, Clarity, Beginnings, Neutrality, Divine, Light: Hevlaska/Bookman





	In the Quiet

.

In time of war, downtime is a precious commodity and needs to be savoured when chance presents itself, and you can never know when the next call to duty might be. In his case, when to fill in his logs and complete the recording. Humanity – however – being what it is, his duty is never-ending. He sighs. These times with her though, fill him with peace. A sanctuary of sorts. Temporary a home as this is, he will take peace where he will.

He enjoys being cradled by her nebulous limbs. A warmth that he allows himself to feel, enveloped in the soft silence. Bookman, he might be and he might have had a dozen, dozen more names than Junior will ever have; here, with her – in her presence – there needs be no pretence. His neutrality has no bearing. He can meditate here better than anywhere else in the Order. As much as Junior might feel stifled by having to share, the old man wonders if the boy ever sees if from his point of view. That he too might need the solace, not afforded them as roommates, forced to share as brethren Bookmen. 

Her softly glowing sentience – she lost her humanity a long time ago – does not invite company, and indeed she prefers it that way, but she does not mind him seeking a home away from home. In truth he has explained to her many times that they are transients. But she does not always accept what Bookman says at face value. 

His gravelly voice is oddly suited for storytelling – and who does not enjoy being read to she would like to know. She does not ‘sleep’ as others might, but sometimes the tales take on a soporific quality and she tends towards a more restful state. Moments she does not mind indulging in. Especially, when the air takes on the bite of the damp, chill air that heralds the colder months. The Order’s resident ‘Innocence Thermometer’ she can appreciate even as seasoned a traveler Bookman is, he isn’t young anymore. It is a kind of symbiotic relationship that she can appreciate on all the levels of connotations that might conjure in others. 

She appreciates that Bookman is not like others. For her part she is grateful that neither of them mention their duties when there is no need to. Between them is just the companionable silence that just feels nice to wallow in. 

Here in the deeper recess of the Order’s substrata where the taint of impurities emanate from the centuries old building like spirits shackled to memory. Her memory. She is like Bookman in a sense – manacling herself to duty. Their codes and tenets may differ, the wise in which they carry out their respective responsibilities however – is the same. Perhaps that is what brings them together. Perhaps that is what they can find peace in. The taint on his hand is that he leads an apprentice (seemingly to some by the nose) knowingly into danger, knowingly into the darkness of humanity, into a life where there might never be true peace, into a life of loneliness. She too leads a lonely life where there will never be any peace, because she is one of hands that dealt the darkness unto unknowing innocents. He is aged and she ageless, different, but the same. He gives her a kind of hope that sometimes she can recapture a few moments of her forsaken humanity, steeped in darkness as she is. She supposes, and this might actually tickle the old man, that underlying all their various layers and she can laugh too, that there might be some vestige of humanity still left in them, a little bit left of belief in humankind. 

“Ahahaha!” 

“Hevlaska?” The old man meditating cross-legged on a translucent chaise-lounge deigned to open one eye, smiled at the sudden laughter. 

“No – no it’s nothing, sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Ah no, no,” sagely shaking his head. “I’ve been quiet enough I think, how about a book, a story?”

“Yes,” her voice is tremulous but he supposes that comes with her corporeality.

They settle in for the afternoon. Sonorous whispers echo off the walls, and twirls itself around the history of the old castle. There is no time here that one can determine without a watch or clock, for there are no windows this far deep in the underbelly of the Order and the light here is ethereal.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I label this as other as Hevlaska feels like an otherworldly entity to me. Once again apologies for being tardy. Also short one-shot is short. Apologies for that too.
> 
> As ever thank you everyone who comes to visit. Have a lovely weekend. - Zan


End file.
